


Crowley and His Tailor

by Eflauta



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crowley's tailor, Gen, crowley - Freeform, tailor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 18:25:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eflauta/pseuds/Eflauta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley likes English suits, and the best English suits come from Savile Row.  He finds a man with particular talent, and ambition in spades - Edwin Hardy Amies. He's young, but has big plans, and he wants a deal to make them happen. Question is, will Crowley take it? It would mean losing the best tailor he's found in only a decade. Good business, but not for his wardrobe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crowley and His Tailor

 

It was really more of a grass littered X than a crossroads, but, he supposed it would do. See, Crowley wasn't exactly on the A list of demons, so, it was hardly surprising he'd take a call like this. No one else would even bother - he was an equal opportunity enslaver of souls, and did not discriminate based on age, sex, gender, orientation, religion, or location. Personhood was another matter. You did have to have a soul, but, angels didn't usually burry boxes, so that wasn't much of an issue.

 

There was a short, tidy man standing before him, war worn and 37, his back turned, his fists stuffed deep into the pockets of his dark woolen coat. Nerves, perhaps, or the bloody wind and rain - it never let up around here.

He cleared his throat, and the man spun around with a look or surprise that was just priceless. It never got old, getting the drop on these fools.

This particular fool was named Edwin Amies, an excellent writer, fashionista, and not someone he expected to ever see here. Not with all the talent, but then, war changed people.

 

"You!" Amies exclaimed, his surprise mixed with confusion, and a healthy dose of anger.

Crowley held his arms out with a smug look on his face, as if to say "The one and only," because, let's face it, the crossroads were the only place he could get away with that amount of self-absorbed bravado.  Amies folded his arms, and turned a half turn away.

"Did you really expect someone else?" His tone was near mocking, incredulous on the edges, as he'd briefly supposed the man clever, even observant.

"I just, I did not think that you were a demon" He retorted, quite crossly, barely glancing back over his shoulder.

"No, clearly not. Surviving the war was so very human of me" And really, hadn't he been spotted behind enemy lines? Didn't anyone notice that he kept disappearing, coming back up in the oddest of places? Either he was better than he thought, or soldiers nowadays were really quite stupid.

"You were an Ally" came the reply, as thought that explained his survival.

"I was an Axis." That was beside the point though - he'd offered deals to soldiers of both side. Only his job had forced that absurd neutrality - he'd been routing for the Nazis all along. Who wouldn't admire their political strategy and cultural manipulation? Besides, Hitler's name had been a big one in Hell, an artist gone dictator, all in the name of blond hair and bread. Pity that deal hadn't been his, maybe he wouldn't be standing in the English countryside if it had.

 

The next reply came with contempt and disgust. "I made you a suit." 

"So you did." He fingered a corner of it, admiring the texture, and the fitting he'd done "Best suit I've found in a while."

Amies remained still, arms crossed, face turned away, mouth firmly closed in irritation, so, Crowley broke the silence after a moment or two, figuring he'd steeped long enough.

"Well, if that's everything, I'll just be off." And he swiveled, making ready to leave.

"No!" Amies had turned now, his hands out of his coat, his expression expectant. "No."

"And why, should I stay?" He was baiting, by this point, drawing out the poison of the matter so he could get on with his day. Time was money, after all.

"I. I want to make a deal" and again, he turned away, as though the very thought repulsed him.

"Well, deals, I can do." It was his job after all, buying the souls of the downtrodden saps. He'd had hopes for this one, but, a sap is a sap, no matter how handy with a needle.

 

He nodded, and explained, "There's this place down in London, in Mayfair. A fantastic location, but it was bombed out by, well, anyway, I want to make it my shop, I want a business there, and my only problem is the money."

"So, let me get this straight. You want me to give you a pile of money so you can have your little business, in, Mayfair?" He kept his incredulity from his tone, though that was really quite hard, because he hadn't believed till now that Amies could possibly be quite that thick. But there it was. That's all he wanted. Any deal in the world, and he asked for some cash.

"Yes, yes, that's right" He sounded unsure, as though he'd forgotten something important.

"And you are aware that in 10 years, I get your soul?"

"Yes, yes, I am aware of that part" Amies brushed it off with a tired tone. Perhaps that had been what held him from calling before now. It was usually a sticking point in the proceedings.

Crowley  paused, letting the matter hang in the air, considering the proposal before him. It was quite the steal, a soul for some spare change, a sap for a drop in the bucket.

Amies broke the silence this time.

"So, will you take it or not?"

 

"No."

 

The tailor sputtered. "What do you mean 'No.'?!"

"It's really quite simple, "No," "Non" "Nien." 

More sputtering, along the lines of "but!" and "You can't!"

He rounded on him, cross, and quite visibly so. "I'm not going to take the only decent tailor on this side of the planet and have him dead in 10 years because of some bombshell suit shop in London. It took me bloody well long enough to find someone who could stitch a proper hem let alone tailor me a suit." 

"Fine." he retorted, "Fine, I'll, I'll call someone else!"

"Good luck with that then, I was the only one who would take this job. I have a soft spot for sheep roads that no one else seems to share." Well, that last part was a lie, he hated them too, but it made a good cover for his status in the ranks. 

 

"Counter offer," he stated plainly, and it got Amies's attention. "Cash, success, fame even," he ticked them off on his fingers, "and you get to live, for as long as I like."

"The catch being?" Even to a clot pole like him, it sounded too good to be true.

"You make my suits, all of my suits, for as long as I like them, as often as I like them, and exactly, as I like them. No questions asked. No fees. Are we clear?" It was business, plain and simple. A bit outside the books, but he kept that from his tone, stating the terms as plain as could be so he received exactly what he wanted.

Amies nodded, numbly. It was obvious, really, that he hated the demon, that he'd like nothing more now, than to stab him through the heart than make him another suit, but, he seemed to be swayed by the prospect of fame.

 

"Then," Crowley stepped closer, looking down at the man. "We have ourselves a deal."

And with that, he kissed him, and it was sealed

He'd have his suits, Amies his shop, and in a few dozen years, his soul would burn bright in the fires of Hell. 

 

Not a bad deal for a grass littered crossroads.

**Author's Note:**

> Edwin Hardy Amies, was born in 1909, lived through both World Wars, and served as everything from a customs agent to the dressmaker of Queen Elizabeth II. Although he died in 2003, technically before he would have been eaten, he makes a nice basis for a fictional character. After all, who would Crowley choose but the very best?


End file.
